


Still Here

by StarryNox



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Azure Moon Route, CW: canon-compliant racism, CW: depictions of violence, F/M, Nonbinary My Unit | Byleth, cw: suicidal ideation, implications of The Wandering Beast...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:08:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21938722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarryNox/pseuds/StarryNox
Summary: Marianne tells herself that he probably did the same thing for Leonie and Ignatz when they joined the Blue Lions earlier in the year—she can’t say she knows the prince well, but it seems like the sort of thing he would do. Even so, the memory of his smile, warm and inviting, lingers with her for days afterward.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Marianne von Edmund
Comments: 4
Kudos: 64
Collections: Fire Emblem Three Houses Rarepair Port Secret Santa





	Still Here

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SnarkInfestedWaters](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnarkInfestedWaters/gifts).



> This was written for Snark as part of the FE3H Rarepair Port's Secret Santa event! They asked for some romantic Marianne / Dimitri--I hope you enjoy! I had a lot of fun writing this.

It is the 23 rd of the Blue Sea Moon when Professor Byleth asks Marianne to join the Blue Lions. Marianne doesn’t know what to make of it. A couple of her other classmates have joined the Blue Lions thus far—Leonie practically demands it—but she can’t see why the professor would want _her_ of all people. She isn’t a skilled fighter, and Mercedes is already a better healer than she is. Marianne is nothing but dead weight and misfortune, a voice in her mind tells her, not cruelly but as a statement of fact.

So she ducks her head, mumbles that she’ll think about it, and runs. 

“I mean, I’ll miss you in our class,” Hilda says, pouting, “but I think it’d be good for you! You always seem to perk up a little after having tea with the professor.” 

“Plus, between you and me,” Claude says, leaning in conspiratorially, “despite being new, I’ve heard that Professor Byleth is much more effective than Hanneman.” 

It takes three days for Marianne to gather up the courage to approach Professor Byleth, and she still stumbles through her words. But the professor smiles—a slight upturn of the mouth, but for them that’s saying a lot—and tells Marianne that they’ll see her in class the next day.

* * *

Marianne lingers in the doorway. The Golden Deer have always been odd, with most of its members not very close to each other prior to the start of the year. Hilda and Lorenz were acquainted, of course, and Ignatz and Raphael were close despite the former’s insistence on avoiding the latter ( she still doesn’t know what that’s about, but she figures it’s none of her business, anyway ). But it’s nothing like the Blue Lions, where most of the students have at least one friend from their childhood days sitting in class with them. 

It’s intimidating, to be honest. Her gaze drifts down to the floor, and she wonders if she’ll be okay after all.

“Excuse me, you are Marianne von Edmund, are you not?” 

“Um, yes.” She lifts her head slightly to meet ice-blue eyes. The blue cape draped regally over one shoulder tells her that she’s face-to-face with the house leader, and she wills herself to remember his name. Blaiddyd, she knows, but trying to grasp the rest of it is like trying to make out the landscape in a thick fog. She should know his name, she thinks guiltily. She has attended school with him for months. But the boy only smiles. 

“My name is Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd.” He crosses an arm across his chest and bows politely. “I don’t believe we’ve ever been formally introduced. Welcome to the Blue Lions. I know that Professor Hanneman’s curriculum is a little different from Professor Byleth’s, so please, if you need anything, do not hesitate to ask. You’re welcome to sit with Dedue and I while you adjust.” Something akin to horror must show on her features, because he casts a glance between herself and the large ( larger than Raphael, she thinks ) dark-skinned boy next to him. “I know he can look intimidating, but I assure you that he would be happy to lend his assistance.” Dedue only nods his agreement.

“Oh. No, it’s nothing like that. I don’t want to trouble you, that’s all…” Maybe Leonie will help her? Oh, but they had that argument the other day…no, she probably wants nothing to do with her. 

“It is no trouble,” Dedue assures, his voice quiet, and Dimitri is quick to add his agreement. In the end, she finds herself sitting next to them anyway, Dimitri taking the middle seat in the bench. 

Sitting next to them is…nice. Even if she spends the day’s lectures as close to the end of the table as she can manage, careful not to let her books touch his. 

Marianne tells herself that he probably did the same thing for Leonie and Ignatz when they joined the Blue Lions earlier in the year—she can’t say she knows the prince well, but it seems like the sort of thing he would do. Even so, the memory of his smile, warm and inviting, lingers with her for days afterward.

* * *

For the most part, Professor Byleth does not push Marianne to stand on the battlefield, and for that, she is grateful. She would only cause trouble for everyone, would only take the place of a more capable healer or a better fighter. So when Professor Byleth asks her to come along on a battle with lower stakes—taking care of some common brigands who’ve caused trouble just a bit _too close_ to Garreg Mach—Marianne accepts. The professor asked for her, specifically, rather than their usual query as to whether Marianne wants to come along, and Marianne can’t bring herself to say no. Not when the professor has been so good to someone like her.

She can do this, she tells herself silently. She must. 

Her hands are curled around an iron sword, and Marianne wants to retch. The cursed blood that runs through her veins revels in the nearness of battle, screams its protests as the professor directs her away from combatants and towards her wounded allies. There is something dark and hungry rising in her chest, doing its best to override her concentration, and Marianne’s fingers shake as she fights the instinct to kill, _kill, KILL!!_

“Stop it,” she whispers hoarsely, her breathing uneven. She clings to a nearby tree, letting rough bark cut into her palms, unsure if she’s hoping the blood will sate the beast within or if she’s just hoping to ground herself in the present moment. But distraction can be fatal on the battlefield, and she notices the brigand and his axe far too late.

She’s wished for death so many times that it feels like a memory, but as she watches the axe swing towards, her she feels only fear. That dark, unwanted part of her demands she raise her sword, demands she tap into the power it holds, so that she might live. 

Later, she might tell herself that it would be better, anyway, to die a girl than to live as a beast. But the truth is more simple than that: Marianne is no lion. She is a deer, wide-eyed and frozen and hardly cognizant of the _real_ voices shouting her name.

The axe disappears in a flurry of black and blue, a grunt of pain and the stench of fresh blood. The brigand is dead, sprawled across the ground, and Dimitri yanks his lance out of his corpse before turning towards her. 

“Are you all right, Marianne?” Numbly she nods, her eyes drifting to where the brigand’s axe had sunk into his shoulder. 

“D-don’t worry about me,” she manages to say. “Y-your shoulder…” Numbly, she lifts her hand, willing white magic towards her fingertips and into his wounds. To help instead of hurt. 

“Your Highness!” Dedue, usually only a few steps behind Dimitri, comes crashing through the underbrush a moment later, but Dimitri waves him off, assuring him that he’s fine. 

“Stand guard, if you will,” he says. “I believe Marianne is in shock.” 

It takes a little longer for her to gather the strength to let go of the tree, to dab a vulnerary atop the scrapes on her hands, and then the three of them make their way back towards the others.

The professor says she did well, even smiles slightly as they say so, but Marianne doesn’t think she’s done well at all.

* * *

“Marianne?” She glances up from the plate of food she’s been picking at to find Dimitri standing by the open seat next to her, his own tray in hand. He offers her a small smile. “May I sit here? There isn’t another open spot…” Even without glancing around to check, she knows it must be true. Dimitri, she’s learned, is honest in that kind of way. 

“Oh, um…” She doesn’t know why he wants to sit with her even if it is the only open spot, especially after she asked him in no uncertain terms to stay away from her. But it would be rude to turn him away, and…she _does_ feel a little bad, being so harsh, so she tells him, “You may.” 

“I’m sorry,” he says as he settles down next to her, and she stares at him uncomprehendingly. “I should have just eaten in my quarters. I know you asked me to stay away from you.” 

“It’s fine.” She fidgets with her hands in her lap. “Um, about the other day…”

“Oh, yes. I apologize for whatever foolish thing I said to upset you, truly. But, ah, may I ask what happened?” He looks so earnest, so sincerely apologetic when he doesn’t even know what to apologize for, and she knows she has to tell him the truth.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” she says. That much comes out easily enough. The rest, though… she struggles to find the right words. “It’s just…” He’s patient, waiting for her to find her words with undivided attention, save for the occasional flicker as he eats spoonfuls of stew. “It’s just… there is only misfortune for anyone who comes near me.” 

“Misfortune?” His brow is furrowed.

“Yes. Misfortune.” That is the only way to put it, isn’t it? Her parents, the children she once played with, her adoptive father, if she were to allow him to get close. “Especially for those with disregard for their own safety.”

“Ah, so I didn’t offend you.” He looks relieved by the prospect. “You were only trying to tell me I ought to be more concerned for my own safety.” He chuckles. “Well, I suppose I could improve in that regard. But Marianne, to say that you’re misfortune is far from the truth.”

“I disagree.” That she can say so aloud is a surprise even to herself, but she pushes on. “My entire life up until this point has been nothing but a string of unfortunate events.” Dimitri frowns, and she wonders if she’s said too much. She probably has. Maybe she should just go. She moves to, but he holds up a hand to stop her. 

“I think,” he says at last, “that misfortune finds us all.” She is glad that he doesn’t say anything trite, like trying to tell her that it wasn’t her fault. It is for that reason she stays, settling back onto the dining hall bench, her gaze not directed towards her lap but towards him. “Perhaps those around you have suffered, or even perished, but…look at you.” He offers her a wane smile, the sort of smile that fails to mask the pain underneath. “You’re still here, alive and well.” She swallows thickly. 

“But that’s…”

“It doesn’t feel good, does it? To be the one left behind.” She is startled by the frankness of his words, and she nods. “You feel guilty for not dying along with the others.”

“H-how…how did you know?” She has a feeling she knows the answer, but she wants to hear it spoken aloud. Perhaps it is cruel of her to think so, but there is no anger in Dimitri’s expression—only grief. 

“You and I are the same, in that regard.” He offers another half-smile. “Perhaps _you_ should fear being cursed with misfortune for coming near me.” That thought is so startling that it draws a laugh from her, even if she’s quick to stamp it back down. But Dimitri looks utterly delighted. “Ah, a smile and a laugh! Coming from you, that’s a rarity. This must be my lucky day.” 

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be…I shouldn’t find it amusing that someone like you has something…something like this in common with me.” His gaze softens to something softer, warmer, and something equally warm blooms in her chest. 

“Is it so terrible a thought, though?” 

“No, no, nothing like that.” She offers him a smile, small but genuine. “These feelings…I wouldn’t wish them on anyone. But it still makes me happy…it’s as if there’s finally someone who understands how I truly feel.” 

“I feel the same. Please, Marianne, know that you needn’t be alone.” 

For the first time, Marianne thinks she might be able to believe it.

* * *

Professor Byleth chooses her to represent the Blue Lions in the White Heron Cup, and Marianne thinks, briefly, that they might just be insane. Why not pick someone like Annette, who actually wanted to compete? Why _her_? But the professor only smiles, squeezes her shoulder gently, and tells her that they think she’d do a good job of it. 

Marianne has been a member of the Blue Lions for long enough to know that, despite her initial misgivings and lingering feelings of inadequacy, the professor is usually right. She may not be the best healer, nor the best mage, and certainly not the best swordsman, but she knows different spells than the other healers and Annette, and she’s certainly better with a blade or a lance than they are. She still prefers to be off the battlefield, away from the thrumming of her crest, but she realizes now that the professor was right to see potential in her, even when she can’t see it for herself.

Even so, mastering the proper dance steps is…difficult, even more so when Professor Byleth can hardly dance, either. And that is how Dimitri, of all people, is roped into assisting.

“It’s no trouble,” he assures Marianne as he rests a hand upon her waist. There’s a faraway look in his eyes, the sort that she knows must be reminiscence of happier days. “You know…my step-sister once taught me to dance. She was a stern tutor, but an effective one. I promise I shan’t be as harsh.” 

“Your step-sister?” 

“Ah…” He flushes. Distantly, Marianne thinks it looks quite nice on him. “For a time, Edelgard lived in Fhirdiad. Though it was brief, we were friends…though it seems as if she’s forgotten.” 

“That’s…terribly sad.” 

“Perhaps, but…maybe it’s for the best. I am no longer the child I was then. Regardless, it is something of a secret. If you would—”

“Your secret is safe with me, Dimitri.” That much, she can promise. The rest of their practice is spent in silence, save for Dimitri’s gentle corrections, Marianne not knowing what else to say. She is still learning to be a friend: to Hilda, who still invites her over for sleepovers, to Ignatz, who shows her small scenes of beauty even in the monastery walls, to Annette and Mercedes, who don’t seem to mind her hopelessness in the kitchen, but to Dimitri most of all, whose extended hand she is still afraid to take.

Later, when she stands in disbelief with the dancer certification in her hands, he will congratulate her for a job well-done. She will stammer her way through gratitude, and he asks, in return, only that she save a dance for him at the ball.

* * *

Everything happens so quickly after that. Captain Jeralt dies. Professor Byleth mourns with a force none of them know how to handle, seeks vengeance with a fury no one knew they could have, comes back entirely changed yet also very much the same. The Empire attacks the monastery, Edelgard is revealed as the Flame Emperor, and Dimitri…Dimitri shatters.

On bad days, she remembers the way he looked, blood spattered across his face, screaming for Edelgard’s head, crushing the skulls of Imperial soldiers in hands that had once held hers so gently. She feels the heady thrum in her veins and wonders if she’ll look like that too, one day. 

Felix says that he was always like this, that he just hid it better, but Marianne surprises everyone when she sticks up for Dimitri and disagrees. If anyone would know Dimitri well, it would be his ( fractured ) group of childhood friends, and yet…if she agrees that Dimitri is, as Felix puts it, a raving beast at his core, then there is certainly no hope for one such as herself. 

But more than that…she doesn’t think his kindness, his gentleness, to be a lie.

The Empire attacks the monastery again, a full-blown invasion this time, Edelgard unmasked and at its head. Professor Byleth falls off a cliff, and Marianne screams alongside the rest of the Blue Lions as they watch mint-green hair disappear down a ravine even as they’re herded into cramped carriages which take them home.

Marianne stands in the foyer of the Edmund estate, her hair falling haphazardly from her usual braided updo, her skirts stained with dirt and blood, her heart aching for the classmates who feel so, so far away. Her adoptive father moves to hug her, and for once, she allows him to. Allows him to guide her to her quarters, to fuss over her while she grieves.

Maybe she brings nothing but misfortune after all. But even if she is…she has learned she cannot force people to care.

* * *

Five years pass. Marianne rarely hears from her classmates, knowing only that they’ve been swept up in the civil war raging throughout the Kingdom. Dimitri is dead, and so is Dedue. The Alliance is barely held together, her father’s own loyalty to Claude cemented by her own observations about his character. Marianne keeps up with her training, because it is better than doing nothing. It still feels like doing nothing.

Five years pass, and she remembers a promise made the night before the ball. Would anyone even remember? Would they even care? Five long years of war stretch between the children who made a promise to reunite and the people they are now….

“ _Maybe it’s for the best. I am no longer the child I was then._ ”

He’d said that to her once, with such a sad look in his eyes. She is lonely, and tired of doing nothing. She doesn’t want to look back, five years from now, and wish she had kept one of the few promises she’s ever made, the first plan for the future she’d ever had. 

She has spent five years learning to speak better, under her adoptive father’s careful tutelage, but her voice still trembles as she tells him of her plans. She doesn’t think her arguments convincing, nor her plans particularly sound, but he agrees to let her go. Tells her to bring some of his own personal troops—for protection, but also as a gesture of good will towards whomever it is she might meet. 

She meets Leonie and Ignatz on the way to Garreg Mach, each of them marveling at how much has changed since they were evacuated from the monastery all those years ago. Even if no one else shows up to the reunion as they promised, she tells herself that this could be enough.

* * *

Against all odds, the former Golden Deer aren’t the only ones to show up at the monastery. A fight against bandits is hardly the right place for a reunion, but the way the former Lions call to each other between fights is nothing short of joyous, and Marianne finds herself smiling despite it all. The professor is alive, most of her former classmates are alive. Dimitri, long thought dead, is _alive_. In the wake of the battle Dedue’s figure is a conspicuous absence, and Marianne clasps her hands in prayer as Dimitri delivers the news that he is dead.

But even that cannot hide the wyvern in the room. Gilbert calls Professor Byleth aside after Dimitri’s declaration of vengeance on the Empire. Dimitri stalks off soon after, in the direction of the cathedral. The former Blue Lions exchange worried glances before deciding to call it a night. But Marianne finds she cannot sleep, back in her old room, somehow untouched these five years. 

The cathedral, once a place of solace for her, lies in ruins, its great ceiling a gaping hole and its stained glass windows shattered upon the floor. In the moonlight she can see Dimitri, still in his battle gear, standing in front of what was once the great altar. As she nears, she can hear him muttering to himself.

The sound of her footsteps must alert him, for he turns, lance raised until he sees who it is. And then he goes back to ignoring her. She tries not to think about how much that stings.

“Dimitri?” Marianne calls to him anyway, and he settles one eye on her, the other covered by matted hair and a black eyepatch.

“What do you want?” His words are not as biting as they were when he demanded to know why everyone had come to Garreg Mach at all, and she supposes she’ll have to take it.

“Are you wounded?” 

“Does it matter?” 

“It does to me.” For a moment, she thinks he will push her away. But his lance clatters to the ground, his heavy cloak following soon after. In just his armor, he seems so much smaller. 

“Do what you will.” He doesn’t bother to remove his armor, but she can work with that, accustomed as she is to treating wounds mid-battle. It is harder to heal someone who refuses to tell her where it hurts, but not impossible. 

She lingers afterwards long enough to pray, properly, for Dedue’s peace in the afterlife, and to pray that Dimitri finds some peace of mind. 

He doesn’t answer her when she bids him good night.

* * *

War waits for no one. They’ve barely made the monastery livable again when the Empire attacks, and in the wake of it all, it becomes clear that they need to decide what to do. Though really, they all know there is no choice. They will follow Dimitri’s quest for vengeance upon the Empire, or they will watch as he sets off on a suicide mission. That he snarls even at the professor is enough to make most of them give up on reaching him, and Marianne can’t exactly blame them. Dimitri ignores her own presence more often than not, and in time she learns that she’s been receiving better treatment than most. 

She remembers a promise he once made to her, when she, too, was dead-set on pushing everyone else away. That he would be there for her whether she wanted him to or not. That promise…it was far from the only thing that caused her to slowly come out of her shell, but it meant more to her than she could properly express at the time. And so, she promises, silently, to do the same for him.

She brings him meals, most of which sit untouched. She heals him after battles where he recklessly charged ahead. He says nothing to her ( around her, yes, but never to her ), and her heart aches as he pleads with the ghosts of his past. She even tries to give him a sponge bath, once, but he jerks away from her touch, retreating further into himself, and she does not try again.

“I don’t really get why you bother with him,” Leonie confesses once, when they’re on stable duty together. “I mean, I know you two were friends, but…he _did_ manage for five years. ” They both wince, knowing that he certainly did not manage well.

“I don’t want to give up on him,” Marianne admits, the second half to her silent promise. “Not when he refused to give up on me.” Leonie’s gaze softens.

“You’re sweet, Marianne,” she says. “But definitely a hell of a lot nicer than him, on your worst days. Just…be careful, okay?” She squeezes Marianne on the shoulder. “Enough of that, though. You still want to take the holy knight certification at some point, right? I’ll help you with your lance work.” 

She still doesn’t like the way that her crest pulses beneath her skin when she curls her hands around even a training lance, but she lets Leonie guide her through drills anyway. 

War waits for no one, and Marianne has people she wants to protect.

* * *

The Battle at the Great Bridge of Myrddin leaves them all with heavy, mixed emotions. On the one hand, it is the first time they have truly, _properly_ faced a classmate in battle, with Ferdinand and Lorenz taking their dying breaths on the border of Alliance and Empire territory. On the other hand, they are granted a second miracle: Dedue, covered in new scars but otherwise hale. As soon as the battle ends, many of the Blue Lions are tearing across the battlefield to meet him. Ashe barrels into his chest with Annette not far behind, both of them in tears. Dedue smiles warmly as he returns the gesture even as the others crowd around him. Even Marianne manages to give his hand a squeeze before making way for the professor, who looks as if they just might cry, too. 

It takes a little while for Dimitri to be truly convinced that his old retainer is there, and isn’t just a particularly convincing ghost ( not for the first time, Marianne thinks that he is being literal, when he says he hears the voices of the dead ). But the moment he believes, something other than hatred and grief stirs in his good eye, and oh, how Marianne relishes the sight. 

Dedue falls back into old rhythms as if he had never left, stands vigil at Dimitri’s side as the rest of them settle into the bridge’s fortress for the night. As is habit now, after battle, Marianne approaches Dimitri to check for wounds he won’t admit to, Dedue greeting her with a quiet nod.

“Him first.” It is the first time Dimitri has spoken directly to her since their reunion. His words are an order. But that he has it in him to care for another is more than she has seen from him in months, and she dutifully beckons Dedue forward. Dimitri all but hovers as Dedue directs her to wounds sustained in the recent fight as well as older ones which are giving him trouble. 

“He’s all right,” Marianne assures Dimitri, though the man can see it for himself. “But, um, if you’d like, Dedue, I can prepare a poultice for some of your older wounds…it’ll have to wait until we’re back at the monastery, though.” He looks surprised by the offer, but nods, slowly. 

Dedue gently catches her by the wrist as she leaves. 

“Thank you,” he says, voice trembling with emotion. “For taking care of His Highness.” 

* * *

Dedue, she quickly learns, is a far better caretaker than she when it comes to Dimitri. He coaxes Dimitri into eating more often than Marianne can, seems to know how to handle Dimitri when he’s at his worst. As they prepare to march for Gronder Field in a cruel mockery of their academy days, Dimitri’s condition improves, if only just. 

Marianne fears the worst as she kneels on Gronder Field, Duke Fraldarius’s blood staining her hands. She is concerned for Felix, yes, but when she glances upwards, her eyes stay locked on Dimitri, left behind yet again. 

Later, she will learn that it took Gilbert, Dedue, and the professor combined to keep Dimitri from leaving on his own. Later, Dedue will approach her, desperation creasing his brow as he at last tells what he knows about Dimitri’s condition, and Marianne exhausts her limited knowledge trying to come up with a treatment plan. It is easy to sew together flesh and mend broken bones. It is far more difficult to mend a broken heart. 

They experiment with different herbs, different dosages. It’s less precise than Marianne would like, but better than nothing at all. Dimitri, slowly, starts to talk—to the professor, mostly. He agrees that they ought to march on Fhirdiad and retake the Kingdom, and it is as if a collective sigh of relief falls over the army. The others largely tiptoe around him, even now, but it’s a start.

“Marianne…” The hesitation in his voice is just as plain on his face as he towers over her—he does so even when she is standing, but the effect is even more pronounced when she’s sitting next to a campfire. “May I join you?”

“Of course.”

“I wish…to apologize.” His words don’t surprise her—he’s made it a point to apologize to each and every one of his old friends and to the professor. “You went out of your way to care for me, even when I had chased everyone else away, and yet I…I never once thanked you, nor did I make your job any easier.” Marianne feels her gaze soften. 

“It was the only way I could think of, to be there for you,” she replies simply. “Whether you wanted me to or not.” His lips quirk into a tired smile, one she returns. “You have my forgiveness, Dimitri. Though, um, you really didn’t do much to me.” He lets out a sigh.

“Be that as it may, I was hardly a friend to you, either. But I will be better. Do better. This, I swear.”

“I know you will,” she says with a small smile. “I believe in you.”

* * *

The people of Fhirdiad are jubilant when Dimitri faces them for the first time as their king, the professor and Dedue standing at his side. Many of her old classmates are equally joyous, and they are quick to pull those not originally from the Kingdom into their celebration. Marianne joins them, for a time, but slips away in the end. Even now, the crowd is a little too much for her. She intends to sneak her way back to the quarters Dimitri has already set up for them all in Castle Fhirdiad, but ends up running straight into the man himself.

“Are you all right?” 

“Yes, just a little…” She trails off, glancing behind her to where the lights of the celebration can still be seen. 

“Overwhelmed?” he offers, and she nods. “I feel the same. It is…humbling, to see them celebrate, but I…” Something in his eyes dims. “I’m sorry. You deserve a more pleasant evening than listening to my troubles.” 

“I don’t mind.” He hesitates a moment longer before offering his arm to her. Marianne takes it, allowing him to lead her in the direction of one of a small courtyard. 

“I…do not believe I am fit to be king,” he confesses at last. “I turned my back on the people of Faerghus for so long, have done terrible deeds in the name of revenge…even now, I hear the dead’s pleas—though they are not all-consuming, thanks to you and Dedue. And yet the people celebrate my return. It is…far more than I deserve.” Marianne is silent for a while, turning his words over in her mind. Those kinds of thoughts…they are not unfamiliar to her in the slightest.

“When we were students,” she says at last, “I used to wonder why the professor wanted me to join their class. I didn’t think I could be useful in battle. I thought I would only be a burden. I… well, to be honest, I still feel like I’m a burden, sometimes. But the others don’t seem to think so.”

“Certainly not.” He sounds so sure of it that she has to smile, if only a little.

“Right. So, um, what I’m trying to say is—sometimes, other people can see things in you that you have trouble seeing yourself. But, even if you really aren’t there yet, you can keep trying. I think… I think life is a lot like that.” 

“Is that so?”

“I used to wonder why the Goddess would spare someone like me. If it was her way of telling me to make something of myself. I thought there were so many others more deserving of life than myself… but she saw it fit for _me_ to live, deserving or not. So… I may as well try. To live.”

“To live…” 

“Yes… if I give up now, then surely I won’t have deserved to continue standing when others had to fall. No matter how terrible it feels… I can keep trying. ” 

“… I see. So long as I go on living, I can atone for my sins and pay for the lives I have taken.” Was that all he had gotten from her speech? She turns to stand in front of him, taking his hands in her own.

“You can also become a king you feel is deserving of the people’s praise.” At last, a ghost of a smile tugs at Dimitri’s lips. “Remember that.” 

“Thank you, Marianne. It is selfish for me to ask anything more of you, but will you promise me something? Promise me, that you will never give up on yourself, or on your precious life. I…” His good eye falls shut, his shoulders slumping. “I would be devastated if you were to die.” 

“Oh, Dimitri…” How can she say no to such a request? “I promise. So please, promise me that you’ll continue living, too—through this war and long after. I don’t know what I’d do with myself if we lost you.” It is more earnest than she had intended on being, perhaps, but seeing him smile, softly, as if she truly is precious… she can’t bring herself to mind.

“As long as you are carrying on, then I have yet another reason to carry on myself.” It’s his turn to take her by the hand, now, and her eyes widen as he lifts one so that he might brush his lips against it. “I fear there is little I can promise you now, Marianne. There is a war that must be won, and I have much to atone for. And I… I doubt I will ever be free of the voices which haunt me. But to live alongside you… I can promise you that much. And, if you will have me, I swear that I will endeavor not to give you reason to despair.”


End file.
